


Benevolence

by sweeterthanstrawberries



Series: Benevolence [1]
Category: The Witcher, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Geralt of Rivia - Freeform, Geralt x reader - Freeform, Geralt x you, Geralt/reader - Freeform, Geralt/you - Freeform, The Witcher - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23431324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthanstrawberries/pseuds/sweeterthanstrawberries
Summary: You take a rather nasty tumble, finding yourself in need of help from an intimidating but kind-hearted stranger.
Relationships: Geralt x reader
Series: Benevolence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685575
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

Walking down a busy street, you bump into people all the time. Because it's New York, everyone wears black. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary when a man in a black coat runs into your shoulder. You turn to apologize, but he is already gone. Shrugging, you look down and notice that something had fallen out of the man's pocket during the tussle.

While bending to pick the object up, you notice that it is a brass locket. Just the locket without the chain. You examine it in your hand, turning it over and over. You keep it in your hand the whole way back to your apartment, curiosity keeping you from letting it out of your sight.

All you can think about for the next three days is that locket. On the second day you were able to open it, but found it empty. Why was that man carrying around an empty locket? And why was that the only thing to fall out of his pocket? It's not like you had crashed into each other. It was just a passing graze. Nothing about this seemed to make sense, and you find the locket claiming more and more of your thoughts as the days go by.

On the fourth day you come home from work, put your bag on the table, and walk over to where you had the locket placed on your desk. You open it again, and the weirdest things start happening when you do. The locket becomes hot to the touch. The lights start to flicker around you, eventually going out completely, leaving you in the dark. The clocks start chiming even though it was 6:23. You watch the locket spin on your desk, and a deafening ringing erupts in your head. You groan and kneel on the floor. Closing your eyes tightly, you feel yourself getting pulled into the ground.

And then you feel weightless. Like you were back on the Drop Tower at Great America, holding your best friend's hand. But now you are alone, confused, and panicked.

Heart in your throat, eyes screwed shut, you keep falling. Until you aren't. You slam into dirt on your side, nothing easing your fall. Gasping for air, you try to roll over but the pain is too much. You cry out once air returns to your lungs. You open your eyes and find dirt and grass and rocks. Like you are on a road.

Pain shoots through your left side and shoulder. White hot and excruciating. You don't even want to try to stand up yet. The thought just makes you nauseous. So you lay there. You are not sure just how long, but you know that the sun is going down when you hear what sounds like hooves and footsteps. Your eyebrows scrunch as you lift your head and shift your body enough so you can see whoever it is.

Another wave of pain and confusion crashes over you as you see the man approaching. He has white hair and is dressed in black leather and what looks like armor. He is walking beside a horse and slowly comes to stand by you. Once he reaches your side, he crouches down and looks over your form on the ground. Your breath catches in your throat once you see him up close. His eyes are striking and amber. They are like none other you have ever seen before.

He reaches a hand towards you but retreats when he sees the fear on your face. Even if he is beautiful, you have no reason to trust him, and you know that he could overpower you even if you weren't injured due to his sheer size. His eyes look concerned but his expression is blank as he continues to look at you.

"Would you like me to help you?" he asked quietly, gruffly. His voice is deep and gravely. "I won't hurt you. But there are creatures that will if you stay here any longer."

Still unsure as to whether you can trust this man, you nod. He gives a single nod back and reaches his arms out to lift you off the ground. You shriek in agony as he raises you, cradling you to his broad chest. The movement ignites the ache that seemed to have dulled after laying on the ground. He only grunts at your cries.

He brings you to his horse and helps you into the saddle. He climbs up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle to grab the reins. You groan when he steadies you with a hand on your hip, noticing you swaying. Waves of nausea roll over you when the horse starts to walk forward. The jostling makes the pain in your side and shoulder so much more intense. A sob escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can feel the man behind you tense, but he doesn't say anything. No words of assurance. Just a hum that seems to resonate in his chest.

Eventually the pain becomes too much, and you pass out. You wake up in a rickety bed in a room that seems to belong in an upstate cabin. You try to sit up, but tendrils of pain shoot up your sides. You lift your shirt to look at the bruises forming all over your skin around your torso. It wasn't a dream. You really weren't home in your own bed, in your own apartment. A stone seems to settle in the pit of your stomach. Everything about this feels foreign.

You try to think about what got you here. The man. Was he here? You still have on your clothes, so you know nothing happened to you while you were unconscious. You remember falling. The ground. The locket. You remember it spinning on your desk at home. The weird flickering and clock ringing. You wonder where the locket is now. You didn't grab it before you began falling. Your eyes were closed the whole time. You reach into your jean pocket and feel cool metal at the bottom. You pull out the locket and gape at it. How did it get into your pocket?

Before you can think any further on the topic, a knock sounds at your door.

"Come in," you call out in a hoarse voice that sounded nothing like your own.

The man who brought you here enters. He now only wears a thin shirt and leather pants, allowing you to see just how broad and muscular he is. His golden eyes focus on your form in the bed. He begins to walk towards you, and you can't help but draw back slightly. You still know nothing about this man and his intentions towards you. You have no idea why he helped you at all. You can tell that he sees the hesitation in your body language which causes him to stop his approach.

"Who are you?" you manage to weakly croak out.

"My name is Geralt," he says simply with that deep voice of his.

"Y/N," you offer. He hums in response.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" he asks as he walks very slowly towards you.

You open your mouth to tell him but realize that what you want to say sounds crazy and unbelievable, even in your own mind. You decide to tell him that you were beat by a group of men while on your way to town. His eyes almost soften at your words.

"Did they do anything else to you?" he asks quietly.

You shake your head but figure that since you don't have any money on you, telling him that they robbed you might be a good idea. He again hums. By now he is at your bedside, looking down at you.

"May I inspect your wounds?" he asks as he sits next to you on the bed.

You nod, but you realize that you are going to have to take your shirt off to do so. He pulls his face into what seems like an apologetic grimace. Taking a deep breath, you nod again and ask if he can help you get your shirt off. His fingers find the buttons down the front and begin undoing them one by one. Your heart rate picks up and his eyes flit to yours as he unbuttons the last one keeping your shirt across your chest. He slides the fabric over your shoulders, careful around your left shoulder that is covered in a dark bruise.

You are left half naked in front of this beautiful, burly man. Unfortunately, you had decided to wear one of your more revealing bras to work today because of the button down shirt you wore. It is a comfortable but thin cloth bra that left little to the imagination. You can feel his eyes on your chest for a brief second, but he is respectful and does not stare. You see confusion flicker across his face when he sees what you are wearing under your shirt. You cock your head to the side, unsure as to why he is shocked by your apparel. Every woman wears one, it's no big surprise, you think to yourself.

Slowly, he brings his hands to your hips and begins his inspection. He gently pokes and prods at your ribs and stomach. Sharp breaths and groans fall from your lips as he does so. He presses a palm to your stomach which causes you to inhale shakily, not as much from the pain but the almost tenderness of the action. His fingers trace over circular scars you have on your stomach, wordlessly asking what they are from.

"I had an illness when I was little. It left its share of scars all over my body," you say, looking at his thumb that is still running over the scars. He hums and continues his inspection of your body. His thumb prods the ribs just under your breasts, checking for breaks. Your heart speeds up and you gasp at his touch, partially because of the pain that it leaves in its wake but because of the intimacy of it. His eyes meet yours for a second, but recede and focus on your bruises again.

He runs a hand up your arm to your shoulder. Dark rings of bruises encircle the joint. He glances again at the bra you are wearing, and he blinks in confusion, shaking his head ever so slightly. He continues his investigation of your injuries without speaking until he asks a sudden question.

"What is this that you are wearing? I have never seen a woman in anything like it before," he asks almost sheepishly.

Heat begins to seep into your cheeks and ears. "What?" you whisper.

"This," he says as he tugs slightly on the strap of your bra.

"It's a bra. Do women here not wear them?" you draw back in surprise. He shakes his head, repeating that he has never seen one.

"Where am I?" you ask, hoping to get an answer like upstate New York or something familiar. Instead he tells you a town that you have never heard of. You have a sinking suspicion that it is not in the United States. You follow with, "What country?" He tells you a 'kingdom' that you have never heard of either, confirming your suspicions that you are no longer in America. You nod absentmindedly, trying to pretend like you know where he is talking about. You can't keep up the facade for long, and you know that he will be able to see right through you, so you admit to him that you have no idea where that is. You watch his eyebrows knit together, and a frown tug his mouth down. He grunts but does not say anything else. He helps you put your shirt back on and button it up.

"Well, your injuries will not last long. Your ribs are slightly cracked but not completely broken. Your shoulder is bruised badly but will heal normally. I need to leave. I'll be back in the morning. You need to eat and drink water. I'll have them sent up before I go," his eyes glance over your body one more time before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Geralt," you call after him as he opens the door. He turns to look at you, nodding once, then closes the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to imagine your body type in this chapter! There are about two descriptive sentences about the reader’s body, so please change it to fit yours when you read:)

A light brush on your cheek wakes you up the next morning. Your eyes flutter open and find Geralt hovering over you. His hand is no longer near your face, and you can't help but frown slightly at the loss of contact. You went to sleep last night feeling lonely, lost and confused. Nothing seemed to make sense, and you lacked the energy to try and sort things out.

"I brought some salves for your bruises," he says, lifting the small jar of pale cream in his hand.

"Thank you," you smile weakly, embarrassed by how helpless you feel. You still don't understand why he is going out of his way to take care of you. He hums and begins to open the jar. You work on the buttons of your shirt, his hands eventually swooping in and finishing the rest. As he did last night, he pushed the fabric over your shoulders, careful to not make you move more than necessary.

He gathers some cream in his hands and begins to rub it over the blue and red splotches that litter your left side. You focus on your breathing as he does this, trying to not think too hard about how gentle his large calloused hands are on your body. You watch his face, noticing the tugging of his eyebrows together and the pursing of his lips into a thin line in concentration.

Before you know it, he has finished and is standing up next to your bed. You tell him that you don't really want to put your shirt back on because of how it hurts to do so. He nods and begins walking to the door.

"I will be back tonight. I'll have more food and water sent up," he says, his deep voice filling the room. You watch him close the door and find yourself drifting back to sleep, Geralt the last thing on your mind.

The whole day you lay in bed, thinking about what you are going to do. You have no idea where you are or how you got here. You move to stand up, but decide against it after swinging your legs over the side of the bed, crying out in pain. Not yet, you tell yourself.

A knock sounds at the door that night after you finish eating the dinner sent for you by Geralt. You don't know how you are going to be able to repay him. He doesn't seem like he needs anything, and you don't have much to give him as your possessions merely consist of your clothing and the locket that mysteriously ended up in your pocket.

"Come in," you call through the door, knowing full well who it is.

Geralt enters the room in the same attire as last night, but he carries two large pails of water that are steaming from the top.

"I brought water for you to take a bath," he glances over at you as he pours the water into a small tub in the corner of the room. You hadn't really noticed the grease in your hair and the dirt that lays under your fingernails. "Would you like me to help you?" he asks, even though he knows that the answer will be yes.

You nod and begin to slowly ease out of the bed. You try to not groan, but you can't help it when your side screams at you to lay back down. Geralt comes to your side and lifts you up, carrying you once again against his broad chest. He brings you to a stool next to the tub and sets you down. You whisper a 'thank you' to him as he does this.

You look down, unbuttoning the clasp on your jeans. You inhale sharply as you try to shimmy out of them. He watches you closely, coming to help you out of your pants by pulling them off your hips as you put weight on your feet. He then tugs them down your thighs, trying to limit how much he touches you. You can't help but blush deeply as he does this. You have never been undressed by a man and what a man to be your first time.

You nod to yourself, trying to gather up the courage to tell him to undo your bra. You can tell that he is trying to be respectful and not look at you sitting in your room practically naked. You appreciate his efforts, but come to realize that there isn't really a way around him seeing you naked if you want him to help you.

"Geralt," you start hesitantly, "the clasp for my bra is behind me," you pause, "Would you mind undoing it?"

His eyes widen ever so slightly before he nods once. He shuffles gracefully behind you, unhooking the fabric and pushing the straps slowly over your shoulders. You close your eyes as he does this, trying to keep the blush on your face from darkening further. Geralt does not say anything. He stays behind you, trying to preserve your modesty the best he can.

"It's okay Geralt. You can come around," you whisper. "If you are going to help me, there's not really escaping seeing me naked is there?" Your shoulders shake slightly, a nervous chuckle falling from your lips. You can still feel his eyes on your back, but you hear him coming to face you. Your heartbeat quickens.

You don't meet his eyes at first, but after a minute you glance up to find his amber irises already watching your face. You smile softly. Your arms are awkwardly crossed in front of you, but as your left shoulder can't move, you don't cover much of anything.

"Can you help me out of my underwear?" you ask, confidence boosting a little as you realize that there is a softness, bordering on eagerness, in his eyes. He does not seem to be mocking your body or regretting helping you. He nods and leans forward so you can grab his shoulder with your right hand as you stand up slightly. His finger hooks in the waistband of your underwear around your hips and tugs down until they fall around your ankles.

A calm settles over both of you. You look up at him, still slouching slightly, completely naked. The corners of his mouth tug up in a half smile. You don't know why, but you trust this man. Two days ago you had no idea that you would be naked in front of the most striking and beautiful man you have ever seen.

You grunt as he helps you step into the bath, pain shooting up your side as you do so. Sinking into the water slowly, you can't help but let out a soft moan. You hear Geralt pulling the stool to the edge of the bathtub behind you. Without warning, his hands begin playing with your hair. Your breath hitches in your throat, and a sigh eases out of your mouth when you feel his fingers brush against your neck, gathering your hair in his hands.

The tub is short, so your long legs have to nearly bend in half, causing your knees to stick out of the water. Geralt grabs a bar of soap sitting on the table next to the tub and submerges it in the water. He pulls it out and begins to lather the soap in his hands. Slowly, almost cautiously, he moves to rub your shoulders with his hands covered in suds. Your body tenses at the contact, but he continues his circular pattern, relaxing your shoulders.

Soft sighs fill the room. He urges you to lean forward slightly so he can wash your back. He rinses your hair, bringing cups of water in his hands to cascade over your head . Your mind is telling you that you shouldn't be so trusting of this near stranger, but the way he is drawing out all the tension in your body overrules the doubt you carry in the back of your mind.

He hands you the bar of soap to wash your body under the water while he pulls one of your ankles out of the tub. You watch him as he rubs up and down your calves and feet with deliberate strokes. Once he is done with one leg, he pulls out the other.

The way he cares for you is not what you would expect in a burly man like himself. He exudes strength, yet all he has shown you was gentleness. You have barely spoken to the man, yet you trust him. He is respectful and understanding. You get the impression that he has been injured in a similar way before because he knows what you need without having to ask. You are confused by how willing he is to help a stranger. You give him nothing, yet he is willing to give you everything.

"Y/n," he says quietly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hum in acknowledgment.

"How were you really injured?" he inquires carefully.

He knows that you aren't telling him everything. You don't answer, looking at your knees protruding from the water. You close your eyes, trying to find the words to tell him. He continues, seeing your hesitation.

"You were laying on the side of your bruises. If someone beat you, the bruises would be on the other side."

You could feel him looking at you. His hands continued their ministrations while you put together an answer for him.

"I'm not really sure," you tell him honestly. His head tilts to the side, confusion flashing across his face, quickly replaced by concern. "I-uh-I'm not from here. I don't know what happened. At one moment, I'm in my home, and then the next, lights are flickering and clocks are chiming, and I'm falling, and then I'm not," you babble, not being able to gracefully express your thoughts. "I don't know how, but I ended up here, and I don't know what to do."

Your thoughts catch up to you and tears start to prick at your eyes. Your throat feels thick, and your breath comes out in pants. You look away from him, not really sure how he will react to the information you dumped on him. You are embarrassed by the tears that start to fall down your cheeks and quickly wipe them away, hoping he doesn't notice.

He does. He kneels by the side of the tub and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. The tears don't stop no matter how much you will them to.

"Hey, it's okay. I'll help you," he says softly.

"Why?" you whisper.

"Because I want to." His thumbs graze over my cheek in a calming manner.

You don't respond but just look at him. Half of his white hair is pulled back. His nose is straight and masculine. His mouth is slightly upturned in a small smile. His eyes are kind, but worn, like he has lived many lives. His appearance is exotic and enticing.

"I don't think I've ever met a more beautiful person," you mumble to yourself, lifting a hand to trace his cheekbones. You can feel him almost flinch at your touch. He heard you, but he does not quite believe it.

"The water is getting cold," he says, breaking the silence that had settled between you.

You nod, and he grabs your right arm, helping you stand up out of the water. The whole time he was undressing and washing you, he resisted the temptation to look at your body. After the words you muttered to yourself in the tub, he let himself give into temptation for a moment. You are tall and thin, with broad hips and long legs. You can feel his eyes roaming your body, but you aren't embarrassed by it. You don't shy away from his gaze.

He leads you slowly over to your bed, where you sit as he reaches to grab the slave for your bruises. You lean back on the bed, so he can rub them into your side and shoulder. If you didn't know any better, you would say that his hands have a slight tremor as they work across your body. His eyes focus on his work, knowing that if they strayed, he would not be able to control himself.

"I bought a dress for you," he says, nodding to a gathering of fabric at the end of the bed. You don't remember him bringing that in, but you don't really care when he is trailing his fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"Can you help me put it on in the morning?" you ask shyly, feeling like you have asked too much of him already. "It's okay to say no," you quickly add.

He shakes his head and says that of course he will help.

After he has finished with the salve, he helps pull the slip he brought over your head. You push your arms through carefully, and he tugs it over your body the rest of the way. You can't help your breath hitching every time his fingers graze over your skin. His touch is so gentle. It is not something you looked for in a man such as himself.

He stands to his feet, eyes following your body from head to toe, checking for any other needs before he leaves.

"Thank you again, Geralt," you exhale, "You have been more than kind to help me."

He hums quietly and bows his head. He turns to the door and exits, glancing over his shoulder before he leaves.


	3. Chapter 3

"Y/N," a deep voice rumbles in your ear. "I need you to get up."

Blearily, you open your eyes, bringing a hand to try and rub away the sleep clouding your vision. You glance out the window and find that it is still dark. Geralt is hovering over you, a hand resting on your shoulder.

"Hey, what's up?" your voice is thick from sleep. You see a small smile on his face and hear a slight chuckle.

"I came to help you get dressed," Geralt says as he picks up the dress laying at the edge of your bed.

"Oh, okay. What time is it?" you ask, still a little confused as to why he is here when the sun isn't out yet.

"Just before dawn. I have to work early today," he replies shortly.

He helps you sit up, then stand. He gathers the fabric and brings it over your head. The dress falls over your shoulders, settling on your hips. He helps you put your arms through the sleeves and tug them up. Geralt steadies you, then moves to stand behind you, beginning to work on the laces. He feeds the strings through the eyes of the fabric quickly and carefully, making sure to fasten the dress but not aggravate your injuries.

A hand comes to move your hair over your shoulder, grazing the skin on your neck, causing a brief shiver to roll down your spine. You feel him tying the last knot. His hands rest lightly on your hips, and his body seems to shift closer to yours. Slowly, he turns you around, your face at his throat. Your eyes trail up to his scruff covered jaw, his lips, his golden eyes, finding them intently watching you. He moves his hand to brush your hair back over your shoulder, taking longer than really necessary.

"I should go," he says quietly, almost as if he is attempting to convince himself that he has to. You only nod your head, not trusting your voice which would come out shaky, asking him to stay. He drops his hands from your form and steps back. You watch him gather his things and exit the room without looking behind.

The day is spent slowly walking around the room, gingerly stretching. You are determined to become mobile again so you can help yourself rather than have Geralt do everything for you. You are used to being alone, so the silence is not what bothers you. It is rather the fact that you still have no idea where you are or how you got here. You determine that you are going to ask Geralt, hoping that he knows more than he's letting on.

"I brought dinner," Geralt's voice startles you out of your reverie. You hadn't even noticed him coming in, too distracted in your thoughts of home. You can feel tears rimming in your eyes, but you blink them away, turning to the man who has been your Good Samaritan for the past two days.

"Thank you," you say, sitting up carefully. You swing your legs over the side of the bed as he sits down next to you. He hands you a bowl that smells like your mother's homemade chicken and vegetable soup. He watches you take the first few bites before focusing on his own bowl in his hands.

"Y/N, do you work?" he questions, seemingly trying to start a conversation.

You nod, "Yeah, I work, or worked, at a museum," you reply. His face flashes with curiosity, compelling you to say more. "I take care of old books and art," you explain, hoping that serves to help his understanding. He hums and nods. "You said that you had to work today. What do you do?"

You watch him attentively as he shakes his head, stops, sighs, then answers.

"I'm a witcher," he states. Your lack of response tells him to continue in his explanation. "I hunt monsters."

Your eyebrows knit, still unsure of what to say. A beat passes. Monsters?

"What kind of monsters?" you question, figuring that maybe this will lead to more of an answer.

"There are many kinds," he tries to keep the answer vague in an effort to not scare you away.

"Do you practice magic?" you pause, "Where I'm from, we tell stories of witches who practice magic. But they're not real." You look at him. His eyes are trained on the ground, but flick up to find your face full of interest.

"Yes," he breathes. He watches as you lean to reach under your pillow, grabbing the locket from its hiding place.

"I think this is what got me here," you hand him the small brass trinket. He turns it over in his hand as you did when you picked it up on the street in New York. He fiddles with it, pressing the key that flicks open the locket. His face is concentrated, almost determined.

"There is some sort of magic tied to this. How did you come by it?"

You shrug, "Picked it up off the street. A man ran into me and dropped it. I didn't think anything of it at the time."

He hums and hands it back to you. You set it down on the table beside the bed, no longer needing the pillow to hide it.

"I don't know much about magical objects, but I think when you opened it, it made you vulnerable to its power," he explains. You only nod in response, peering at the locket.

"So, Geralt. You say you are a witcher. Tell me more."

The two of you go on to spend the next few hours talking and telling stories. You enjoy his company, and he enjoys yours. He is an good listener, always asking questions at the right times. You are slightly horrified by his stories, but you do not let on that they bother you too much.

Eventually, it becomes late, and your eyes grow heavy. He can sense you getting more tired with every passing minute, so he offers to tend to your wounds before leaving for the night.

"Geralt, I am more than capable of taking care of myself," you assure him.

He hears none of it, insisting, "I know you can, but let me help you."

You stand up, and he begins untying the laces he so expertly put in place this morning. He pushes the dress off your shoulders, and it falls to the ground. You lay back down on the bed, pulling your shift to your hips. He works quickly, his face focused. As respectful as ever, he does not let his hands stray or eyes wander.

When he has finished, he stands up abruptly, nods, then leaves. Taken aback by his sudden departure, you begin to wonder if you said or did something to offend him. You gingerly put your arms through the sleeves of your shift before blowing out the candle and closing your eyes.

Sleep does not find you easily as you are still troubled by Geralt's odd behavior. You begin to feel a slight sense of panic and the small stings of betrayal. He was the only person you know here, and you will be lost without him.

Your thoughts are immediately pushed away when you hear the door open and Geralt's quick footsteps in your room. You can make out his hulking form in the dark that does not stop its approach until he is kneeling beside your bed. You sit up and whisper his name.

You are cut off by the feeling of his lips pressed on yours. The kiss is chaste and long. It is tender and kind, expressing care and compassion to you in yet another way. He pulls away, and your eyes flutter open to search his features. His forehead is wrinkled in worry, but a small smile graces his lips. You reach a hand to soothe his signs of apprehension, silently telling him that he was right to come back and kiss you.

He leans forward, placing a soft kiss to your hairline. Wordlessly, he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and stands up, intending to leave your room again. You catch his wrist and before you can really stop the word, you whisper, "Stay."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
